A pinch of snuff

Chapter 19

Next morning was lightly covered with a perfect spring sky, pale blue but vibrant with sunlight and sparsely flecked with puff-ball clouds. It was a sky to make even a Yorkshireman less grimly affirmative than usual that it'd rain before tea-time.

Pascoe rang the Infirmary as soon as he got up. The news that Emma Shorter was off the critical list confirmed his high spirits and he essayed a few bars of 'It was a lover and his lass' in the car on the way to work.

'Morning, sir. Lovely morning,' he said to Dalziel, who looked as if he'd been kept waiting three hours.

'It'll pee down before noon,' said Dalziel. 'You'll see.'

'Hey ding a ding a ding,' said Pascoe.

'What? You're not going screwy on me, are you, lad? I began to wonder when I heard you'd brought young Clint Heppelwhite in last night. What's it all about?'

Pascoe told him and waited for comment.

'Think it'll get your mate, Shorter, off the hook, do you?' enquired Dalziel finally.

'I thought it opened up a new possibility,' said Pascoe.

'Don't you think it was one of the first things Inspector Trumper checked out? Boy-friends; who might have been having a nibble? Nothing to show.'

'Well, there's something to show now,' said Pascoe. 'I saw it.'

'So Clint's the daddy. When he finds out, what's he do?'

'He doesn't want Brian Burkill to know for a start,' said Pascoe.

'So what's he do?'

'He looks around for someone else to blame.'

'And he picks on Shorter? Why?'

'He's read his Sunday papers. He knows that doctors and dentists are easy meat for that kind of accusation.'

'And Sandra goes along with this. Why?'

'To protect him,' said Pascoe. 'And to protect herself. It makes her more the injured innocent than being screwed in the garden shed while your mam's watching telly twenty yards away.'

'It's not a bad little plot,' said Dalziel. 'Clever in a way. You've seen more of this lad than I have. Be honest. Do you think he could think up something like this?'

'It's not that complicated,' said Pascoe defiantly.

'No, come on, Peter. Do you think he could get much further than putting her in a hot bath with a bottle of gin? Or just jumping on his bike and taking off?'

'I'm not a mind-reader!' protested Pascoe.

'Aren't you? I thought that's what they paid us for,' said Dalziel. 'Any road, we've wasted enough time on this. The Haggard business is more important. You're going to talk to Arany today, are you?'

'I thought I'd put Sergeant Wield on to him while I had another chat with Toms,' said Pascoe.

'Right. I'll drop in on God Blengdale then, see what he does with someone his own size. Hop to it, lad! There's work to be done!'

Back in his own room, Pascoe buzzed Sergeant Wield but he wasn't in which was annoying as he needed to coordinate the approaches to Blengdale, Arany and Toms. Which reminded him, he'd better check where the film director was likely to be that morning.

The phone rang before he could pick it up.

He answered it abruptly.

'Hello!'

'How busy, how important you sound,' said a woman's voice. 'If only we could learn the secret of sounding so important and busy.'

'Good morning, Ms Lacewing,' said Pascoe. 'What can I do for you?'

'I should like to see you… Peter,' she answered. She made his name sound like a verb, he thought.

'You would?'

'Yes please.'

Was it imagination or were there erotic vibrations in that please?

'Could you tell me what this is about, Ms Lacewing?' he asked.

'Honestly, it would be better if we could meet.'

'All right. Why don't you come round here at…'

'Oh no. Not there. Can't you come to me? Really, it would be so much more… convenient.'

It was unmistakable now, the sensuous undertone. And interestingly, despite his certainty that she was merely mocking him, Pascoe began to feel himself aroused.

'I could call round at the surgery, I suppose. Let me have a look at my diary.'

'Now,' she said. 'It has to be now. You understand; straight away. Please. You won't regret it.'

Pascoe sat and listened to the burr of the dialling tone for a long moment. Even that sounded sexy. He replaced the receiver, rose and went to the gents. As he washed his hands he looked at himself in the mirror. A strong face without being particularly memorable. Nose long, but not excessively; eyes blue, nicely spaced; a high forehead, well-sculpted brows, good teeth in a good mouth which took on a rather Puritanical set in repose; chin perhaps a little off centre? Well, who's perfect? L 'homme moyen sensuel, that's what he saw. A good face for a policeman.

Not the face that would inspire Ms Lacewing to offer her all at eleven o'clock in the morning.

No, she was taking the piss, but that meant she really had something to tell him, so he had better go.

Carefully he combed his almost black hair and adjusted the knot in his tie.

Then, realizing what he was doing, he pressed his face close to the mirror and said, 'Who's a cheeky boy, then?' to the surprise of the uniformed inspector who had just come through the door.

'Good of you to come,' said Ms Lacewing, very businesslike. She must have been on the watch for him for she had appeared in the entrance hall as soon as he arrived.

'I hope it's worth my while,' said Pascoe.

She grinned at him sardonically. Her hands were thrust deep into the pockets of her white coat. It was unfair, thought Pascoe. Uniform made men look all the same, but women, certain women anyway, made uniform variform.

'I'm sorry about the Mae West bit,' she said. 'It was rather childish. Will you come this way?'

She led him into her surgery.

'Next door in the office I've got Alice Andover.'

'Good God,' said Pascoe. 'Is she a patient?'

'One of MacCrystal's, but that's not why she's here. No, Alice is a sort of member of WRAG.'

Pascoe looked at her in disbelief.

'But she's seventy! And more than a bit cracked!'

'Conditions which have failed to disqualify many men from leading their countries,' said Ms Lacewing acidly. 'We picketed the Calliope Kinema Club one night. Alice watched us through her window. She was in here visiting MacCrystal the following day and she spotted me. Well, we talked. She was like a child who's been shut in a city house all her life and suddenly discovers the countryside. So I invited her to a meeting. She was a knock-out! She tended to ramble a bit, all about the old days, but at least she was now starting to see them for what they were!'

'So, you destroyed an old woman's happy memories,' said Pascoe. 'Congratulations. Where do I come in?'

'We gave her a new future,' retorted Ms Lacewing. 'To continue. Alice was adamant that she didn't want her sister to know what she was doing. Nor would she become involved with any protest aimed at that man Haggard. He was her neighbour and a friend of the family, she said. That was fine, I said. But she made me promise to let her in on any other protest I was organizing.'

'Don't tell me,' said Pascoe. 'She's put itching powder in all the jock-straps at the Rugby Club.'

Ms Lacewing looked at him curiously.

'It's interesting how many men fall back on coarseness as a defence weapon,' she mused. 'It's an attempt to reaffirm the old outmoded sexist relationship, of course.'

'Great,' said Pascoe. 'Now I know what I am, can we get back to Miss Andover.'

'Miss Alice Andover,' said Ms Lacewing. 'She's the younger sister, remember. She came in here this morning to talk to me. She was a little agitated but in control. I listened, then I advised her to go to the police. She became very agitated then. Such is the confidence you inspire!'

'While people rush joyfully to their dentists. Go on.'

'I then offered to get the police here. She named you. For some reason, she seems to suspect you may be human.'

'Well, she is seventy,' said Pascoe. 'And what is it that she wants to say to me?'

'It's a confession,' said the woman seriously. 'Be kind to her. Through here, please.'

She led him into the office next door. Alice Andover, wearing an ankle-length black coat and a little lace-trimmed black hat, was sitting by the desk, drinking a cup of tea. As soon as she saw him she began to talk as if fearful that delay might induce some permanent dumbness.

'Inspector,' she said. 'It's so kind of you, I am so sorry, I hope that it has not put you to too much…'

'Alice!' said Ms Lacewing in a commanding voice.

'I'm sorry, my dear. Be forthright, you said. Of course, you're right, I shall be.'

She took a deep breath, leaned forward, fixed her faded blue eyes unblinkingly on Pascoe's nose and said, 'Inspector, I want to confess. Mr Haggard's apartment. I did it. No, that's not really forthright, is it? Let me be plain. It was I, Alice Andover, who last Friday night wrecked Gilbert Haggard's apartment. And I should like to make a statement.'

'I've never really cared for Mr Haggard,' said Alice.

It was the kind of voice and the kind of sentence with which radio plays used to begin – and perhaps still did for all Pascoe knew. He and the old lady were sitting alone. Thelma Lacewing had gone to make another pot of tea at Alice's insistence and to Pascoe's relief. One liberated woman at a time was quite enough.

'I know he was very kind to us,' continued Alice. 'How kind I cannot tell. Annabelle has always taken care of our finances, but from what she has let fall, I gather we were greatly in Mr Haggard's debt. Nevertheless as far as personal relationships go, she had always been much closer to Mr Haggard than I. Just how close I did not realize till recently.'

She pursed her lips disapprovingly and sipped cold tea.

'You know, of course, that Annabelle used to act as a kind of matron when the school was running. I helped also from time to time. There is a door… of course, you have seen it. Mr Haggard put it in. It led directly into his apartment so that children from the school would be less likely to stray into our house. At least that was the reason he gave. But how long this has been going on, I cannot bring myself to think.'

'What?' asked Pascoe.

She ignored him.

'It's an old house, ours. Full of noises. And memories. I'm sorry. When you have as many cats as we have, of course, you get used to noise at night. In any case, since the film shows started, I have tended to turn off my deaf aid at night. But last Friday night, early Saturday morning, I woke up feeling thirsty and when I automatically turned my aid on, I heard footsteps overhead.'

She paused (quite unconsciously, Pascoe guessed) for dramatic effect.

'When I went to my sister's room to tell her there was an intruder in the house, I found her bed empty. It must have been her I'd heard, I decided. Perhaps one of the cats had been shut in upstairs. It sometimes happens. Then they howl and howl till someone lets them out.

'On the other hand, I thought, perhaps there was an intruder and Annabelle too had been disturbed by his footsteps. She's so arrogant in many ways. She would never dream of waking me for help. I don't know if you have an elder sister, Mr Pascoe?'

'No, I haven't,' said Pascoe.

'If you had, I'm sure you'd know what I mean. Well, I returned to my room, took my big pinking scissors from my sewing box just in case it was a burglar, and went up to see. Isn't it odd how strange your own house can become? That staircase. How many times must I have climbed it. But now it seemed so steep, so twisting… And at the top, on the landing, I could see a light. Not an electric light, but flickering. I realized it was coming from the nursery door which was ajar. I tiptoed over the landing, though I needn't have worried for I doubt if I would have been heard.

'And I peered in.'

She paused again, shaking her head slowly as though still disbelieving. Pascoe said nothing. He was now ahead of her and had no way of gauging the effect of such a shock on the woman's sensibility.

'It was hard to grasp what was going on at first. The light was so dim. It was one of those old-fashioned night-lights they used to leave by the beds of children who were afraid of the dark. Annabelle was there. She was wearing our old nurse's uniform. And she had a cane. Mr Haggard was sprawled across the rocking-horse. He had his pyjamas on, with the trousers pulled down so that his buttocks were exposed.'

She stopped. Her face began to crumble slightly. Pascoe wondered if he should call for Ms Lacewing.

'Please, take it easy, Miss Alice,' he said. 'It must have been a great shock.'

'Yes,' she said. 'Yes. It was a very great shock.'

She visibly shook herself now and sat very upright.

'Understand me, Inspector,' she said in a stronger voice. 'I'm old but I am not innocent. I am not a virgin, you know.'

She glared defiantly at him. Pascoe was speechless. Then she laughed.

'There. I've said it. I wouldn't have been able to say a thing like that before I met Thelma. She's a marvellous girl, don't you think?'

'Marvellous,' said Pascoe.

'And yet,' said Alice thoughtfully, 'I rather think she may still be a virgin. Now isn't that odd?'

'Very,' said Pascoe.

'As I was saying,' continued the old woman, 'I have heard of such things. I have always known that Annabelle was, how shall I put it? a rough, hard sort of girl. She should have been a man, really. Our father would have liked it, I think. And as I've told you, I've always found something rather distasteful about Mr Haggard. I cannot understand why they were doing this thing. I abhor pain so much myself, giving or feeling it. But it wasn't that. It was the nursery. That's really all that's left to us of our childhood, those few old things. I often used to go up there and sit there by myself and remember, and wonder how it would have been if I too had had children. There was a boy, but he… well, that was many years ago. So, you see, it was a very special room to me. Now it was spoilt, spoilt for ever. Do you understand that!'

'Yes,' said Pascoe. 'I think I do.'

'I didn't think it out then, not in the sense of proper thought. But I suppose what I felt was that he had spoilt my room, so I would spoil his. I knew what I was doing. I'm not trying to say that my mind went blank or anything like that. No. I went through the door into his kitchen and then through the living-room and down the corridor to his study. And then, well, you saw what I did. I scratched and I tore and where I was strong enough, I broke. I still had my scissors with me…’

'Pinking shears,' said Pascoe suddenly.

'Yes, that's right.'

'God. Of course. Those curved edges. I should have guessed! I'm not much of a Sherlock Holmes!'

'I should hope not,' she answered. 'All those drugs. I broke open his desk, I've seen them do it on television, it's really very easy. And I scattered whatever I found all over the place. Some of the things, such filth, I really did begin to lose control and I don't know what I might not have done if the phone hadn't brought me to my senses.'

'The phone.'

'Yes. Suddenly it rang. I was paralysed. Suppose Mr Haggard heard it and returned. I snatched up the receiver. Luckily I realized it would be fatal to speak. My scissors were in my hand, so I snipped the wire. Just like that. For the first time I felt guilty. Wasn't that odd? I suppose in a way it was public property. The rest of the stuff belonged to Mr Haggard, but not the telephone.'

Pascoe smiled inwardly at the distinction, but he had enough sense to keep the smile inward.

'What happened then, Miss Alice?' he asked.

'I went back to our house as quickly as possible,' she said. 'I was very frightened.'

'Oh,' said Pascoe, disappointed. 'Then what? You went back to sleep?'

'No! Do you think I could have slept after such an experience even if Archie hadn't been missing.'

'Archie?' said Pascoe.

'Yes. I love all my cats, Mr Pascoe, but Archie seems to love me best. He follows me everywhere. Sometimes he's so desperate for a cuddle that I think he must have had a deprived childhood. And I thought – suppose he followed me through into Wilkinson House and I'd shut him in there? I had to go back, of course.'

'Because if Haggard saw him, he would guess who had wrecked his study.'

The old woman looked at him as if he were slightly insane.

'That never crossed my mind,' she said. 'Poor Archie would be so terrified if he found himself alone in a strange place. Of course I had to fetch him. I tiptoed back up the stairs and through the door. ..'

'Was Mr Haggard still in the nursery?' interrupted Pascoe.

'I didn't care to look again,' said Alice primly. 'But there was still a light showing through the door, so I guessed he was. I went straight to the study, but Archie wasn't there. When I saw what I had done, my heart sank. We do terrible things to each other, don't we, Mr Pascoe?'

'I'm afraid we do,' said Pascoe gently. 'Did you find Archie?'

'Not a sign. I looked through the whole house

'You mean you went downstairs?' asked Pascoe, incredulous at the thought of this old lady tiptoeing through the dark empty house.

'Of course. Archie gets lost very easily. I had to make sure. Then while I was in the little cinema part, I heard the front door open. I was more frightened than I have ever been, Inspector. It was worse even than the munitions factory during the war.'

'Factory?'

'Yes. I made bombs. I mean, I did something to something which went inside a bomb and one day there was a fire. I was in the canteen, quite safe really I suppose. But when the alarm went, they couldn't get the emergency exit open and I thought I should die of terror. But this was worse. I heard footsteps. They paused outside the cinema door. I was down on my hands and knees between the seats, looking for Archie. I held my breath. The door opened. I am not a very devout person, Inspector, but I prayed. It was, I recall, a rather general kind of prayer, taking in most of the accepted religions. I don't know which of them is the True Faith, but one of them worked. The footsteps went on up the stairs. I wonder what Thelma is doing with your tea?'

The bathos was too much for Pascoe who got up from the desk and took a turn round the room.

'What happened then, Miss Alice?' he demanded.

'I told you,' she said, surprised. 'He went upstairs.'

'No, I mean to you. You were still trapped. In the dark. Hiding. What did you do?'

'Oh, I see,' said Alice. 'I went out of the front door and into our front door. It was quite a mild night and I was only in the open for a few seconds.'

'You carry a key in your dressing-gown?' said Pascoe.

'Of course not. But we always leave one in a hiding place by the front door in case we ever lock ourselves out. And ever since the munitions factory, I have refused to have bars or chains on any door.'

'I see,' said Pascoe weakly. 'And that was that?'

'Not quite. There was one thing more. Do you know, when I got into my bedroom, there was Archie, asleep on my pillow!'

Pascoe tried to look suitably astounded at this irony.

'Just one other thing, Miss Alice,' he said. 'When the front door opened, Mr Haggard's front door I mean, what kind of noise did you hear? Was it just an ordinary noise, like someone using a key?'

'I suppose so,' said the old lady. 'What else might it be? Why would he not use his key?'

'He? You mean you saw who it was?'

'Of course I did. I may be a frightened old woman, but I was not going to crouch there with my eyes shut while someone came towards me! No, I saw him clearly in the doorway.'

'Who?' asked Pascoe.

'Mr Arany, of course. The foreign gentleman who works for Mr Haggard. You don't think I would have refrained from telephoning the police if I had reason to think there were burglars in the house?'

On this note of civic indignation, Thelma Lacewing returned with the tea-tray.

'How's it going?' she said lightly. 'I see no manacles yet, Alice.'

'It's going fine,' said Pascoe, taking his tea. 'Why are you telling me this, Miss Alice? Or rather, why have you waited so long?'

'I was frightened,' said the woman simply. 'I lay awake all that night. I heard the fire-engine and the ambulance and wondered what on earth was happening. Then you called next morning and I thought you'd come to arrest me. That's why I acted so stupid – it's a defence mechanism, I think you call it. When I learned that Mr Haggard had been attacked and killed, I must admit there was some relief mixed with my shock. How awful that sounds. But at least it seemed as if my sister's relationship with that man need never come out.'

'But you have brought it out now,' said Pascoe gently.

'Yes. I had to,' she said firmly. 'It took me some while to realize what I must do. But a man has been murdered. I have no right to stand in the way of justice.'

'It was a brave decision,' said Pascoe sincerely. 'And a right one. Have you told your sister you were going to talk to me, Miss Alice?'

'No. I'm afraid I funked that,' said the old woman. 'I came and spoke with Thelma, whose advice was that I should speak with you. But now, of course, I must inform Annabelle of what I have done.'

'I've assured Alice that Annabelle is in no way involved in anything illegal, Inspector. And that there can be no repercussions and should be no publicity,' said Ms Lacewing.

Now who's beginning to have a bad conscience? thought Pascoe.

'No repercussions certainly. And I shall be discreet,' he said, rising. 'Thank you both for your help and cooperation.'

Miss Alice offered her hand. He took it and pressed it with both his own. Ms Lacewing smiled insolently at him, tongue moistening her wicked little teeth.

Pascoe grinned amiably back at her. If Alice's estimate was right, Ms Lacewing knew nothing of the waters she was fishing in. She would have to make a better cast than that to get another rise out of him.